


Suspension

by SavageSavannah



Category: Peter Pan (1953)
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:20:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1446541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SavageSavannah/pseuds/SavageSavannah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Peter Pan AU in which Wendy and Peter both went to flight school but due to a mental illness Wendy could not get her pilots license and she is devastated and attempting to find a way to cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Happiest Things

A shiver runs down my spine. The room is dim, filled of people in various stages of personal enjoyment. The main area of attraction rests in the center, but no eyes are trained on it except mine. It's my entire reason for being here, for being alive. The manager joins me in admiring the cords swinging slightly as they hang from the ceiling, the sharp metal at the end glinting in the red spotlight. This is a club paid for by theatrics.

  
He clears his throat and slides a hand through the air before us, indicating I should lead the way. Most likely he expects me to walk, but I am done with patience. I run, shedding my blouse as I go. Not soon enough he arrives on the platform with me, his chuckling barely audible with music blaring around us. Bystanders are beginning to rearrange their seats. Most people that come to do what I am here to do come not only for the feel but for the audience. I couldn't care if I was surrounded or utterly alone. The skin on the back of my shoulders has been clamped. The frigid metal is shocking, but not unwelcome. Perhaps the man counts down, perhaps he does not, I am too far inside my head for coherency.

  
The sudden silence jerks me back to reality. All music has stopped just in time for the unmistakable sound of both hooks puncturing my skin, impaling me. The manager makes a circular motion with his index finger towards the ceiling. A deafening cranking noise begins. I am hoisted into the air, held up by nothing but steel and flesh. I can feel trickles of blood slipping past my shoulder blades and twisting around my sides. My eyes are closed. A softer sound has taken up residence in the back of my mind. I start composing my little theme song. _Think of the happiest things... It's the same as having wings. Take the path the moonbeams make. If the moon is still awake, you'll see him wink his eye... You can fly! You can fly! You can fly!_


	2. Shadows

"Wendy."

 _Ah, fuck._ I stop as I walk past the corner of the building. _How the hell did he find me anyways?_ I pull my blouse tighter around my shoulders, holding the top of the line of buttons. I spin to face him briskly.

"Peter! Hi, I was just-"

"No you weren't," he stops me with a sad wave of his hand. 

"No," I sigh. "I wasn't." A cocktail of emotions flash behind his eyes, anger, disappointment, defeat, compassion. _That last one is a stretch._ Each one so powerful it practically contaminates the air and I can feel my sobriety slipping. 

“Why are you still trying to lie to me?" He shrugs and continues before I have the chance to respond. "What are you doing here, Wen?"

 _What a stupid question._ I contain my scoff barely, but he catches the intention anyhow. 

"You're right, stupid question." He nods stiffly and starts to turn away. 

"Peter, I...."

"Save it, Wendy. No you're not." And he is right. I'm not sorry. Why should I be? This, I look at the ratty old building, a fire hazard for sure, infested with creatures only fit for nightmares, animals and people alike, this is my sanctuary. The closest to the sky I'll ever come. I am becoming increasingly aware of the shirt soaked in blood sticking to my shoulder blades. I understand his discomfort with the entire situation. The unsanctioned club and it's practices, with unsterile equipment no doubt, it all screams horror film. But his aversions cannot be any greater than my requisite. I scrunch my nose at him, squinting as I study his expression intently, but he gives no sign of breaking from his uncaring facade. My eyes fall to my feet, too grounded for comfort, my thirst for flight never faltering from the pit of my stomach. 

"How can I help you," he nearly whispers. I can hear it all there, all the weeks he's spent bending backwards to make me smile, lifting me as high as he can when my heart lies with the wreckage of fallen aircraft all over the world. I yearn to tell him that it is enough to suffice, enough to keep my head above the waves, but I'd be lying. 

“You can’t."

"What do you expect from me," he asks, his voice rising in volume.

"Nothing." 

"I-"

I cut him off. "Leave."

"Leave?" His voice spells disbelief. 

"Leave." I state again, willing myself not to stammer. 

His mouth is a grim line, parallel with the street. He turns painfully slowly and stalks down the alley with a determined gate. His shadow stretches long against the building, disappearing into the darkness devoid of stars above us. 


	3. Hooks

"What can I get you, hon?" I glance up at the waitress before me with a short pixie haircut and skimpy attire. I wipe the sweat from my brow and rise from the stairs coming off the stage. The blood has basically been seeping from my shoulder blades for three days.

"A cup of ice would be great, if you don't mind."

"No problem, it's on the house."

"You don't have to-" But she is gone.  _Whatever._ I sigh, and make my way to a table. When the waitress returns she places herself in the seat across from me. She waggles were finger at me and slides me the glass of ice. 

"You've been quite the regular these days." I scoff.  _Oh shit, we've got a genius._ She wrinkles her nose. "Why don't you just tell me what's the matter, sweet cheeks?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." I finger the ice in the glass.

"Listen, twinkle toes. People don't just come and do this," she nods to the stage with her chin, "three days in a row." 

"I do." I cut her off with finality and reach over my shoulder to apply ice to my wounds but she ignores me.

"And most people don't get jerked up into that air and reach more highs than one. I've never seen anyone with the expression you have when you're up there. We all know you need this."  _The hell you do._ I shove back from the table and set the glass in front of her with a dollar under it. 

"Thanks for the ice."

"You're going to want to slow down." I sigh in frustration. 

"You don't quit do you?"

"That makes two of us."  _Fuck it. I'll bite._

"All right," I glance at her nametag, "Bell, why am I going to want to slow down?" She stands up and turns my back towards one of the many mirrors spanning the walls then hands me a smaller one from her apron. I glance at the gaping wounds in my flesh as if this isn't the hundredth time I have ogled them in the past few days. 

"Now, Hook will never tell you this," she says referring to the owner of the club. "But you're skin is going to snap like an overused rubber band. You can't do this without giving your skin time to heal completely between sessions. If you keep this up they'll be finding your body with the wreckage when this place is condemned." 


	4. Ticking Time Bomb

I groan in agony as I rise from bed. The doorbell rings repeatedly down stairs. 

"Be there in just one second," I attempt to yell but do not even have the strength for that. I ruffle my hair in some attempt to collar it's wild tangent. I squint through the cracks in my mirror but the glass is practically unrecognizable. I take to the stairs as slow as possible, avoiding any movement that might shake or stir my body. I can see his outline through the cloudy glass and almost ascend before I've made it three steps down. But his persistent ringing won't end until I've acknowledged his presence. I place one foot against the side of the door in the foyer and open it just enough to stick my neck out. 

"Hi, Peter." My voice is so quiet it's a whisper, something I most certainly didn't intend. I clear my throat and grit my teeth at the shudder it sends through me. "How are you?" _Much better._ His lips turn up for a split second at the edges.

"Can I come in?"  _Uh oh._ I hesitate. His eyelids draw just a bit closer as if the top is connected to his lips and they too fall immensely. 

"Sure," I say with as much confidence as I can muster. _So, zero._ I release the door and move so my back is to the wall as he enters. He spends a decade just staring at my face, head cocked to the side, trying to decipher what's whirling through my mind. I keep up my facade of emotionless compliance. 

He makes a move towards me, arms rising, clearly intent on an embrace. In sheer panic I duck under his arms and off to the side, back still to the wall. _Dammit, Wendy._  Peter is on some kind of high alert now, clearly aware that something more than our recent arguments are at hand. I back up slowly as he advances worry coloring his features. Without thinking I collide with the stone wall behind me. 

"Ah!" I crumple in agony, doubling over. My movements are echoed in his gasp as his eyes fall surely on my shoulders, turning black with infection, seeping puss and blood even still. 

"Wendy..." His voice is filled of horror. Upstairs, the sound of my clock, ticking louder as it approaches my alarm, echoes through our ears. 


	5. Growing Up

“Don’t fucking touch me, Peter.” I struggle to regain my footing. Peter halts in his advance towards me but only for a moment. I glance up in time to see the rage surge through him.

            “Don’t touch you? You’re back is fucking decaying as we speak and you’re trying to be a fucking hard ass? Grow up.” He manages to help me up a lot gentler than I had expected. I grit my teeth against the pain. _He’s right you know._ The thought is a lightening strike and then it is gone. _Yeah._ I nearly shudder with the truth of it. I stare at Peter blankly.

            “This has gone too far, Wen,” his voice is softer but still stern. “You’re dying. You’re fucking dying and you could care less! You’re irresponsible and reckless. I know what happened hit you-”

            “You don’t know. You don’t know anything!” Disgust fills me again. “Stop trying to understand what I’m going through, what I feel. You can’t. You got your goddamned license Peter, nothing you can say will change that I didn’t.”

            “Stop having a goddamned pity party!” I stagger back as if I’ve been shot. He throws out an arm to catch me if I fall. “You knew, Wen, you knew the chances. Did you think they were just going to skim over it? ‘Oh well, she’s a nut case, who cares let’s put her in charge of the lives of millions.’ I’m sorry, Wendy. I am. I wanted it for you more than I wanted it for even myself. But we both knew. You have to accept it.” My eyes fix on my hands for what seems like hours.

            “You’re right,” I whisper.

            “Ya think?” He’s still pissed. I look up.

            “I’m sorry, Peter…” My body sags a little with the wait of admittance. Peter says nothing; he merely begins to lead me towards the door, moving slow but with determination. I refuse to whimper, or groan, or bring any sounds of upset or pain. This is my own doing, and Peter is right, I have been foolish to let my loss affect me so. I still have my life before me to do with what I please as long as… as long as I can desire something else. Something besides flying. Because those with mental instabilities are not to be pilots. It’s time to grow up.


	6. Can I Fly

It’s been a month and my shoulders have almost completely returned to their natural state…or as close as they will get with the scars. The wind is icy against my skin and my only light is the flickering sign of the club. _Is it possible it is more run down now than before?_ _Surely not._ I pull harshly against the heavy metal door and slip inside. This is the first time I have returned since the day Peter took me to the hospital. _Peter. What would he think if he saw me here? He’d be pissed as hell._ But I wasn’t here to fly. I was only here to…

“The prodigal daughter returns!” Hook’s gravely voice draws me from somewhere inside my mind. He embraces me tightly. “This place has been a bit of a bore without you around!” I give him a half smile.

“My sincerest apologies. Bell working tonight?”

“Bell works every night.” He squints at me for a moment, and then his scrutiny is replaced with forced warmth. “Gonna fly tonight, my girl,” He whispers in my ear. I shiver. I’ve heard that voice, that expression, over and over. And oh, how I crave it. How I crave the feeling of soaring, the dull ache in my shoulders, and the flashing lights around me. How I crave the kiss of the cold metal. _Am I going to fly tonight?_ I shake the thought away.

“I don’t know.” Suddenly the lights dim and the familiar sound of someone about to take to the air strikes my eardrums. _Who…?_ Hook sees my expression of shock and jealousy. A low chuckle grumbles in his throat.

“Her name is Lily,” he tells me as we round a pillar to take in the scene. She is beautiful, dark skinned, and majestic. She hangs above us stark naked with her eyes sealed, a beginner. She draws a breath and gives a daring flip. _A gutsy beginner._ Hook looks at me again from the corner of his eye. Bile boils in the pit of my stomach. _This is mine._

“So, dear Wendy…” he begins.

“Suit me up.”


	7. "Peter!"

The newcomer descends just as I begin to remove my shirt. Mr. Smee ushers me towards the stage with a disappointed glance, but nothing more. Hook removes the metal from Lily’s dark skin a little roughly. She says nothing to him, doesn’t even look at him, merely crosses her arms and walks to a room in the back. _Something isn’t right._ I swat my thoughts away. It’s too late, I’m too enamored, and I no longer care. Mr. Smee cleans the grapples and Hook takes extra care to place them through my fresh scars. They slide in easily, as if they belong there, as if my flesh is their cocoon. My flesh. Not hers. Just as they are about to start the crank I catch sight of Bell, running towards the stage.

“Stop! Wendy stop!” She continues screaming but this is all I catch. I put my hand up to stop Mr. Smee from hoisting me up. Bell skids to a halt before us. My toes are just barely touching the ground and I am leaning forward as much as I can manage against the cables.

“You monster,” she addresses Hook. “Wendy you have to stop this you have to come down!” Hook is motioning the bouncer at this point. Bell’s voice escalates. “He’s made that woman do this! Blackmail! She’s the third one! He keeps them here doing this every night awaiting your return to spark your jealousy. He’s a fiend! A MURDERER.” The bouncer is jerking her back now. Hook slaps her across the mouth.

“Lying bitch! You’re fired.”

“No,” she persists. “Wendy-” Hook slaps her again.

“GET OUT,” he bellows in her face. Her petite frame struggles against the bouncer.

“Wendy he’ll kill you!” She is nearly out the door now. I am straining forward. I can hear my flesh beginning to tear. Hook makes a motion to Smee.

“Up Mr. Smee! Take her up!”

“Wait! Stop! Stop it I want down! Release me! Stop,” I command them to permit me my freedom but they refuse. Smee starts up a string of anxious mumbles.

“NOW MR. SMEE,” Hook screeches.

“Wendy! Think about Peter,” Bell screams as she exits the building. My mind crashes through paths of figuring a way out of this. Without registering I scream.

“Yes! GET PETER!” With that I am bludgeoned across the skull and hoisted into the air.


End file.
